"Jerry Oltion - Battle Lines" - читать интересную книгу автора (Oltion Jerry)

"How do you know? Have you ever tried it?"
He looked out at the ground two kilometers below. The cavern leading to Relig's underground warren
was smaller than the thumbnail of his outstretched hand. The city on the arch spanning the cavern was
smaller still. And tiny specks of flyers above it were just visible if he squinted. It was a long way down. In
his warship Gordon felt invincible, and the thrill of victory for a just cause was a powerful aphrodisiac,
but the thought of stepping out of his metal cocoon into all that empty air cooled his fire. The plane could
fly fine without him, but without it he was a ballistic projectile. "I don't have to try it," he said. "I can
imagine it just fine."
"I won't be wearing anything either." She rubbed her hands over his shoulders and chest, leaned close
and nuzzled his ear.
Her voice and her caress brought the response she wanted, but Gordon took her hands in his before
they could stray far enough to find that out.
"You want to make love in flight?" he asked. "Okay, let's do it. Right here, in the plane. If we unbuckle
and twist around a little, we--"
"That's too restrictive," she said petulantly. "I want to feel free!"
"Okay, then, let's land and do it on the ground."
"It doesn't feel natural on the ground."
That line seemed so familiar Gordon had to laugh.
"What?"
How could he tell her that he recognized her come-on? It suddenly struck him how strange it was for
him to be fighting her advances. Him, Gordon DeLinn, the interstellar rake of a fighter pilot. Usually he
was the one who tried to talk hesitant women into having sex with him, not the other way around.
"You're being a tease!" she pouted, leaning away from him and looking out the side window.
"I'm not," he said. "I'm just not ready to risk my life for sex."
"You're not risking your life! I said I'd catch you."
He shrugged. "You'll try. But accidents happen. Turbulence, or a bug in your eye, or you might sprain
your wrist bailing out."
"You think I'm ugly, don't you? I'm too alien. You think it'd be bestiality."
"What?" That had come out of nowhere. "Where'd you get that crazy idea?"
She turned her head again to face him, her lips full and red in a pout. "The missionaries have been
preaching that it's a sin. That we Accipitans have been genetically altered until we're no longer human."
"Missionaries," Gordon snorted. Half the battles he had fought were against missionaries and their
repressive agendas. He leaned toward her and kissed those soft, inviting lips. "Don't listen to those
idiots," he told her. "You're plenty human enough for me." He didn't tell her that it was her differences that
turned him on, that he liked his women exotic.
She kissed him hungrily, and her hands returned to his shoulders and back. He reached out and ran his
fingers around her powerful muscles, along the soft, rippling skin at the edges of her wings, down the long
ridges at her sides where they attached. She reached under his flight suit, tugging open the zips and
running her hands over his chest, his sides, down into his pants. She began peeling his suit off of him, and
he didn't stop her. He couldn't. He didn't have enough hands to do that and continue touching her, and
now her wings themselves were caressing him, their silky softness enfolding him.
"Oh yes," she murmured. "Oh yes, let's do it."
"We are doing it," he said, unfastening the complicated straps that held her brief clothing in place.
"I want more." She kissed his right nipple, her tongue circling around and around until it was hard as a
berry. "You drive me crazy," she whispered. "I want you."
He recognized those lines, too. Whispered in the heat of passion, they always worked. And now that
he was on the receiving end, he knew why. It doesn't matter how many times a person hears them, or
even uses them himself; they're incredibly flattering, and if someone wants to believe them, they will.
 He was running out of protests. The plane was flying itself, would even return to the hanger if he told it
to. And Zofia was playing his body like a bard plays a harp.